Wedding Bells
by cathrl
Summary: It's Mark and Princess's special day. Rated for one very mild swearword.


If you're not familiar with the rest of my Battle fanfic, you can cheerfully skip the next bit...

Just for once, this isn't set in my AU (it was once, but the arc decided to go another direction entirely). That's why it's here - because all the rest of my stuff is in one big interconnected arc and this isn't part of it.

If you're not familiar with the rest of my Battle fanfic, but read that anyway and are now wondering where the rest of my stuff is, click on my profile and follow the link to my homepage.

Now, for everyone:

This is set considerably after the end of the TV series. One for everyone who's asked me whether I plan to put Mark and Princess together eventually. Thing is, I think that in order to make it fly in a military situation, you need something dramatic to have happened first...

All reviews and comments are always welcome, here or by PM.

**Wedding bells**

"Commander, are you ready? I estimate you need to leave in three point five minutes to be on time. Commander?"

"I'll be there, Zark. Don't you worry." Mark sighed, and resisted the urge to turn the little robot's channel to 'off' for the next few hours. He wouldn't do it, of course. Zark would be devastated. Robot or not, Zark had looked forward to witnessing this day for years.

His wedding day.

Mark adjusted the unfamiliar uniform again, and peered critically at the collar in the mirror. He'd never owned a formal uniform before - birdstyle had always been more than adequate - but Princess had been adamant. She wanted to marry a man in the navy blue and gold braid of a commander. Who was he to argue?

He'd never thought the circumstances would be like this, though. They'd discussed their mutual attraction some time after the start of the war, and had agreed to stay just friends until they were no longer in the same chain of command. Princess had tested his resolve a few times, and he'd steadfastly ignored her. He'd hoped the war's end would be the trigger for their relationship. He'd accepted that one or both of them might well be killed before they ever got that far. Something non-fatal that the implant couldn't fix - that had never crossed his mind. Or hers, as far as he was aware.

Certainly, after it happened, it had been a long time until it had sunk in that the military constraints no longer applied. Princess wasn't under his command any more. They could have a relationship, admit to one another and the rest of the world just how deep their feelings ran. He'd wasted months, and had then been terrified that she'd think he hated her, had led her on and never felt the same way she did. Worse, that maybe the injury had changed everything and she no longer felt capable of the relationship he still desperately wanted to have with her.

It had taken every ounce of courage for him to decide to speak, and considerably longer than he'd expected to find the right situation: one where they were alone, unlikely to be disturbed, and where the crutches were lying unused on the floor, not acting as a barrier between them. She'd tensed perceptibly when he'd mentioned that the constraint of chain-of-command had gone, and he'd been sure he'd blown it. But then she'd smiled and held out her hand. 'Let's give it a try.' That was all the encouragement he needed.

Three months later, he'd proposed and she'd accepted. From there, there seemed little point in hanging around - he felt they'd had their warning, and regrets for the one left behind would be never-ending if they didn't take their chance now and the next accident was fatal. A month after that, and here he was staring into the mirror, feeling overwhelmed by the sheer weight of decoration he'd been told his uniform merited, and hoping desperately that his bride-to-be wasn't regretting her decision.

"You look fabulous, Commander," drawled a voice from the doorway. Mark knew without turning that his best man would be leaning casually against the wall, arms folded, wearing his usual sardonic grin. "Not getting cold feet, are you?"

"Never." Mark gave a final despairing tweak to his collar and looked round at the other, similarly attired to him. "Thank heavens for secret identities. Can you imaging wearing one of these on a regular basis?"

Jason grinned. "If I ever come to this point, I'm going to elope."

"Princess wanted a formal wedding, and that's what she's having. She deserves it." Mark couldn't keep his eyes from the other's hand in his pocket, and Jason suddenly noticed and burst out laughing.

"Eagle or no, you're going through all the clichés. Yes, I have it. Stop worrying. She'll be there - before we are, if you don't get a move on. She looks gorgeous. And she's just as nervous as you are."

Mark looked at the floor. "I just wish..."

"That things had been different? You and every member of G-Force, past and present. Face it, though, if you were still her commander, you'd still just be friends."

Mark sighed. "I know, I know. Just -- dammit, Jason, you know what I mean."

"Yeah, I know. I guess reminding you how much worse it could have been doesn't help much."

"No." Mark took a deep breath. "It happened. It's over. There's no going back, and I won't let this be second best. It would destroy Princess."

"Princess is fine." Jason looked critically at him. "What about you? This is, well, final."

"Admitting I'll never command G-Force again?" Mark smiled at his former second's shocked expression. "I've come to terms with that. I'd never have proposed to her else."

The current commander of G-Force raised his eyebrows. "So, if you're done worrying, can we go?"

"I'm done." Mark retrieved the crutches from where they leant on the back of the chair, manoeuvred himself around with the skill born of long necessity, and followed his best friend down the hall. He didn't want to keep G-2 waiting.


End file.
